


in which yamada tries to write for a different genre

by aeriform



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Blood, Chapter 3 Spoilers, Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, Emetophobia, Gen, barely noticeable though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeriform/pseuds/aeriform
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what do you mean it can only be in black and white, red ink is artistic</p>
            </blockquote>





	in which yamada tries to write for a different genre

**Author's Note:**

> uh i'm not really good at yamada but he's an interesting guy and god knows i needed a fic like this so i decided to just write it myself
> 
> if you have comments or critique then please let me know

It’s been hours since the first phase and he’s still sweating.

Not that the physics lab is warm, or that he’s wearing too many layers. The school’s always been chilly, air-conditioned even in this kind of situation. How convenient, he thinks from his hiding place, just barely concealed behind the door. With all of the necessities taken care of to keep one comfortable beyond the stress of death, it’s just like a well-constructed manga. Comfortable enough to focus on important things, like emulating… no, becoming the heroic protagonist of this story being wrought by the mastermind and their cute but adequately morbid mascot.

And that hero is _him_ , he's come to realize in the last twenty-four hours. It’s right there in front of him, it has been this whole time. All of the necessary qualities have fallen into place like a visually pleasing mockup. The unbelievable setting. The complicating events. The love interest, whisked away by a villain who can only be called a monster.

Even the rising action is beautiful. One, two cycles of death have already occurred. He’s always enjoyed ending on the rule of three.

It’s perfect, but Yamada's knees still feel weak.

Then he hears footsteps. He sucks in his gut and clenches the hammer even tighter, shrinking back against the wall. The handle is getting slippery in his hands, and for a moment he bemoans adding such a smooth finish to the wood. But his eyes soon rivet on the figure entering the room, all in white, taking confident strides as he crosses the threshold into Phase Two.

Yamada’s silent, pressed up against the wall like he’s about to sidle past a horde of angry goblins, watching his arch-enemy’s every movement as he unfolds the paper in his hand, checks his watch, and looks around with an expression that is, in his opinion, downright _murderous_. Celes-dono was right, Yamada thinks, sweat beading up and rolling down his forehead. If he doesn’t do this right, then…

But he will. He has to, because he can see _her_ beautiful face lighting up his own with the dim glow of the laptop screen, and if his resolve was shaky before then it’s right back with him now, and his eyes shimmer as the rising action turns into the climax when he steps out from behind the door, hammer raised over his head. Vengeance will be his.

And so will everything he ever wanted.

 

* * *

 

The events after that are a blur. He follows the plan to the letter, easily deceiving the others even when the only thing he can see is the promise of a blue sky and a future with the two women who have treated him the best. Maybe, when this is all over, he’ll write a oneshot comic about what happened here.

Everything’s fine until he has to move the body.

The first thing that occurs to him when he sees it again, right at the beginning of Phase Five, is how meek his nemesis looks when he’s not brandishing threats like they’re weapons, laid out on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Was there really that much blood, Yamada wonders? He certainly _saw_ red, but he had chalked that up to the channeling of his anger into the swing of a righteous gavel. Even so, none of it seems to have gotten on his uniform.

It’s ironic. All of that preparation for a final showdown, and he didn’t even see it coming. Or maybe he did, and he just decided to submit to his fate, because this was always going to be the end result. Either way, Yamada reassures himself with the promise that, if it _had_ come to a duel between the two, he would have definitely won. Heroes always win, unless it’s some psychological metaphor for the author’s disillusioned perception of the world, in which case nobody wins. And it’s pretty clear that Yamada’s won.

He spreads the tarp out on the ground in preparation for the next step. Taking a deep breath, he kneels down on top of it, reaches out, and rolls the body towards him. Then, he stands up to wrap it up and—

Oh. _There’s_ the blood.

The front of Ishimaru’s uniform is completely soaked with the stuff, and Yamada has to wonder exactly how hard he must have hit him to draw that much. And it all came from his head, too, didn’t it? That had to have hurt. What must it have been like, he finds himself wondering, to lie in a pool of your own blood, watching it get bigger and bigger as you feel yourself dying?

Or was it instant? He hopes it was. Then Ishimaru wouldn’t have had time to be angry with him. Because he looks different in death than he did when he was alive, playing the role of Yamada’s arch-nemesis, much… sadder. Was this the person he killed?

Yamada shakes his head, fighting away the burning feeling welling up behind his eyes. Vengeance is _his_. This good-for-nothing bastard was the scum of the earth, and a murderer, too, if he had the chance. It was a service, an act of heroism, and Yamada tells himself that as he wraps the body up and moves it to the art room. He’s won. Everything from here on out is part of the falling action, filler episodes to meet the series’ quota. How poorly planned, he thinks. He’ll have to do some serious revision when he gets around to adapting it into his next work.

What will he call it, he wonders, the silence only punctuated by the squeaking wheels of the dolly as he pushes it along. Something exciting, punctuated by exclamation marks like your typical action-adventure manga. Or maybe he’ll go for something a little more subtle, something interesting, something that’ll really get the reader wondering just what it’s about. Does he want to take a darker turn with this? That’s not really his style, but if he’s honest with himself, this _is_  some pretty grody stuff he's working with here. Will he include that amount of blood, the way it stains Ishimaru’s uniform mercilessly now that there’s no threat of it being washed out? Spatters aren’t exactly a stranger to him, but he can’t say he’s ever seriously drawn any spatter before in that color, or in that quantity…

And if it is going to be more psychological, he thinks as he lifts Ishimaru off the dolly and onto the ground, what sort of introspection will he include? Should there be a scene where the protagonist hides away in a bathroom, pounding away at the wall, wishing his demons away? Or maybe something subtler, like pervasive inner monologue punctuating each line of dialogue? But that might be too clunky, especially when this will be his first time dabbling in the genre. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right.

The tarp rustles loudly as he unwraps it, revealing Ishimaru’s corpse once again. He’s still lying on his back, blood still everywhere, now rubbed onto the tarp. He does look sad, doesn’t he? A far cry from the villain he once was.

Quickly, Yamada rolls Ishimaru onto his front, relieved to see that there’s still no blood on his back. He can’t look at this any more, he’ll just have to draw it from memory—

He killed Ishimaru. He did it, he said he’d do it and he did, he followed through with his idealistic fantasy, finally becoming the hero he always knew he was inside. The true him is shining through, right now.

He’s so busy trying to keep himself from throwing up that he doesn’t even see her coming.


End file.
